Cat's Tale

by Bettie Sharpe

When he lifted his lips from mine—at last, and yet too soon—my vision was blurred, my thoughts sluggish. Naked and vulnerable to him, I was unprepared to answer when he said, “Tell me what is going on.”

  Startled, I gathered my discarded dignity and pulled away from him. I waited for the words to come—smooth, sure words to soothe and seduce; soft, subtle words meant to secure his sympathy. None came. Instead I made a sound. “Uhh.” It was idiotic and inelegant, and so far from my accustomed suavity that I hardly felt like the woman I had been before we kissed.

  He waited patiently, his gaze keen in the dim moonlight, his hands braced firmly on my shoulders so that I could not run.

  “I was cursed,” I said. “I tried to help Princess Etheldred avoid marriage to Galfridus and as punishment the wizard turned me into a cat and threw me into the mill pond to drown.”

  “Why did you not tell me of your curse?” He held my gaze as he spoke.

  “I—I thought you would not want to help me if you knew I’d an ogre for an enemy. I thought the best way to get your help was to help you in return.”

  He waited for me to elaborate but I did not. I did not want to tell him I had been acting as Etheldred’s spy. I did not want to tell him what I’d done with Galfridus, or the many others before him.

  I was not fool enough to tell the whole tale. Men preferred to play knight errant for worthy women—for women who were good and kind and chaste. I was none of these things and had never regretted it until I imagined what he would think of me.

  “I am so sorry I didn’t tell you!” I threw myself into his arms. He held me close and patted my back, soothing a sadness that had little to do with regret and everything to do with fear he would reject me if he discovered how deep my deceptions ran.

  “I told you my secrets.” His arms tightened on me. “I told you about the Lady Catriona—about yourself!”

  “And I told you truly when I said the Lady Catriona remembered you. Wanted you. No one else could tell you so well as I what tender dreams the lady nursed in her heart. What fantasies she held close to her breast in the dark of night.”

  “Because you’re her!” He let me go and sat back on his heels, moving his body out of reach of mine. His face was still and beautiful in the moonlight. “You let me think my friend Cat would leave me at the end of this adventure, but you planned to have me court you as Catriona.” He laughed bitterly. “Would you ever have told me the truth of it?”

  “I had hoped to put this shameful curse behind me and never speak of it again.”

  “And our friendship?”

  “It would have rekindled.” I met his gaze, silently imploring him to believe me. “We get along too well to be enemies, Julian.”

  “We cannot be friends—not after what you’ve done. If we cannot be enemies, what is left for us?”

  “We could be lovers.” My heart lit with a tiny spark of hope.

  His voice fell to almost a whisper as his gaze grew more intense. “Lovers?” He reached out but dropped his hand before it touched me.

  “Please say you forgive me,” I whispered. “Please.”

  Forgiveness warred with anger on his face, but I knew forgiveness would win. He was too kind by half. Too kind to his brothers. Too kind to me. His brothers would have stolen his possessions, but if I’d my way, I would steal his heart. I was too much in love to let him alone, and too selfish to set him free.

  He was quiet a long while. The night sounds of the forest kept silence at bay, but only just. I could still hear my heart racing. My breaths pulling slow and thick as I tried to hold back my tears.

  “This isn’t fair,” he said. “If I do not forgive you, I will have to give you up. My dearest friend and fondest fantasy gone, both in the same night. I will have nothing left.”

  “You have me,” I said, surprising myself with the truth of my words. “Even if you hate me. Even if you reject me. I will do what I can to help you and to see you happy.”

  “How can I believe that?” His face twisted in the moonlight, a play of shadows, a mask of sadness. And yet, he was still beautiful.

  I took his hand and kissed his palm before placing it over my heart. “Believe me,” I whispered. “By my heartbeat, by my breath, I love you.”

  He did not answer. I raised my eyes to his only to find his gaze glued to the place where his hand rested against my bare skin, above my naked breast. My pulse sped, and he felt it. He pulled back his hand as though burned.

  Rejected, I let my gaze fall to the leaf-strewn ground. How foolish I’d been to imagine he would want me, dirty and bedraggled as I was, lacking even the most modest of my gowns, jewels or shoes. How foolish to imagine he would want me, the being he had come to know as Cat, when the woman he had longed for was the distant, immaculate Catriona.

  “It was you,” he said, his voice haunted. “It was you that night in the forest.” He reached out and caressed my cheek. “You kissed my palm and pressed it above your heart.”

  “I woke in the night beside you. I was a woman again, and you are a man.” I could not meet his gaze.

  “You’re saying you aren’t to blame.”

  “I—no. It was my fault. But what would you do if you woke to find yourself naked beside the one you desired?”

  “I would…” He stood and took a step toward me, and then stilled. He was motionless as a statue, every muscle tense and hard as carved stone. His face twisted as though he waged some internal struggle. Anger and desire. He bent and reached for me. He took my hand and guided me to my feet.

  This time it was he who began the kiss, taking my lips with a rough hunger I’d scarce expected from so gentle a man. His mouth moved against mine with bruising intensity. I let it go on and on—his lips possessing mine, his tongue delving deep into my mouth, his hands moving on me as though he owned my body the way he owned my heart.

  I had never been shy with my lovers, but I was with Julian. I did not return his caresses but instead stood trembling as he took me. I let him lower me to the leaf-strewn ground and look at me as I lay like an offering at his feet.

  I watched as he undressed, eager for the sight of the body beneath his clothes. First came his tunic, tossed aside to reveal broad shoulders and work-honed muscles so crisply defined they might make a statue weep with envy. Next went his shoes, followed soon after by his smallclothes.

  I watched with heated interest and bated breath as he revealed himself to me, but when he was naked he did not pause to let me look my fill as I would have done were I the one disrobing. I caught only a glimpse of his sex standing thick and ready between his muscled legs before he knelt beside me and covered my body with his own.

  “I want to see you,” I whispered as he lowered his lips to mine.

  “Later. This is what I want.” His hand found me as his lips did, both points of entry wet and welcoming. He took his time learning my body, testing and teasing until he found just the right rhythm and pressure. Slow circles from slick fingers drove me mad until I moaned into his mouth and moved beneath him.

  But he would not be hurried or helped. He brought me to climax with his hands, just as I had done to him once in the quiet of the night. My moment left me dizzy and shaken, panting as I looked up at him.

  His face bore an intensity I had not seen before, his attention wholly focused on me. In one move, he entered me, stretching me, taking me. Making me his, and his alone.

  In talk of love, the terminology oft turns toward possession. A man may say he “took” a woman. A woman may say she “had” a man, though neither really owns the other, but for the pleasure of a few minutes.

  No matter the skill or beauty of my lover, I had always remained my own creature. Like a cat, I belonged to no one but myself. With Julian it was different. I gave myself freely, without hesitation. Without reservation. I held nothing back, and received in return pleasure such as I had never known.

  As the last tremors of my climax shook me, he stilled above me and succumbed to his own release. His eyes drifted
closed and he murmured, “Catriona.”

  Catriona. I closed my eyes, unaccountably hurt by the sound of my name upon his lips.

  Chapter Ten: The Morning After

  Birdsong woke me before dawn—a fast, repetitive chirp that would have set my tail twitching had I still worn the body of a cat. Instead, the sound sank a heavy sense of dread in my stomach, for I knew the sun was coming and with it would return my curse. k`1`2

  Julian lay sleeping beside me, his body warm, his breath slow and even. He did not snore, nor did he sleep with his mouth agape as some men did. He was as elegant asleep as he was awake, handsome and peaceful in his repose.

  His strong jaw wore a hint of stubble. His hair was mussed, but I could not find fault with him. I wanted to. I wanted to find some reason that would allow me to want him less—to love him less—but he did not oblige. He had been nothing but kind to me, a generous lover and true friend. Much as I wanted to be angry that he had not returned my words last night—that he preferred the perfect lady he had seen once through a carriage window to his companion of the last few days—I could not rouse my ire.

  I loved him, and that love had transformed me as surely as the ogre’s spell. My love had no care for pride or consequence, no need to see itself reflected in his eyes. It did not matter what he thought of me. I who had always craved praise, admiration and envy—I wanted none of these things from him. I wanted only his happiness.

  He stirred and I discarded my maudlin thoughts. His dark eyes blinked open and focused on me in the dim pre-dawn light.

  “Cat?” His voice was hesitant. “I thought I’d dreamt last night.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I am here.”

  “You are human. And you love me.”

  I blushed and looked away from him, ashamed to hear him acknowledge my words. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.” He paused. “We…we shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have…”

  His words twisted my gut. I hated that he regretted lying with me. If only I had been more forward, less shy. If only I had been more myself, instead of the love-struck fool I became in his presence.

  Not one of my other lovers ever regretted his time with me, except that there had not been more of it. Why was it that now, when I was with the man I’d wanted above all others, my body and mind should turn hesitant and stupid? Tears welled in my eyes, spilled on to my cheeks. I did nothing to stop them.

  “Cat.” He touched my wet cheeks. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

  “Taken advantage of me?” My tears stopped in an instant. He thought he had taken advantage of me?

  “You—you said you loved me, but all I could think of was touching you. Having you. I’m a cad.”

  “A cad?” I forced my words into a flippant cadence. “Hardly.” I raised my face to him. “It isn’t your fault I took a fancy to you. Do not worry for me, I am a woman grown. I can survive a little disappointment.”

  “I am your friend,” he said. “I should be protecting you from lascivious rogues. Instead, I acted the part myself.”

  I laughed. “You are no rogue. As you will recall, I kissed you first.”

  He grinned. “I do recall.”

  “Then you cannot blame yourself. We are both young, healthy and attractive, it is no surprise we should desire each other.”

  He laughed. “If youth, health and beauty were all it took to inspire mutual desire, I should have bedded any lady who took my fancy, instead of only the one I fancied myself in love with.”

  Envy rose in me, frightening and fast as a flash flood. “You mean the capricious Miss Chandler who accepted your affections but spurned your suit for want of proper prospects?”

  He looked down. “It wasn’t her fault. Her family forbade the match. A year later, she wed the smith’s apprentice.”

  “Good riddance. She wasn’t worthy of you, else she would have found some way to be with you.” I could not hide the scorn in my voice.

  “She was just an innocent country miss—not as clever as you, nor as strong. Most people merely live in the world, but you change it to suit your wishes.” He laughed. “Who else would dare to make a marquis of a miller’s son?”

  His words seemed complimentary, except that he had loved that fickle fool, and yet withheld his love from me. I did not understand why. I was surely more beautiful than she. More noble. But not more virtuous—the thought made my heart sink.

  Though he did not know the full extent of my sins, I had already proven myself a liar, a swindler and a thief. It was no wonder he didn’t love me—he knew me too well.

  “I am no innocent country miss.” I stared down at my folded hands and willed myself not to weep.

  “No.” Julian tilted my chin up until my eyes met his. “You are clever, caring and brave enough to pursue what you desire. You are my truest friend.”

  “Then why won’t you love me?”

  “Your heart is precious, and so is our friendship. I do not wish to gain the one at the expense of the other.”

  “How very noble.” My precious heart was heavy, my hard-won hope destroyed.

  “It isn’t nobility, it’s selfishness.” He brushed my lips with his. “I’ve withstood the loss of lovers, but I could not stand to lose my dearest friend.”

  I did not know how to answer that—whether to rant or rejoice. The dawn’s first rays saved me from a decision, for with the light came transformation. The electric pressure of the wizard’s curse gripped my body like a fist. It squeezed me smaller and smaller until I stood on four dainty feet, clad in a coat of velvety black fur.

  I turned to find Julian staring at me, his dark eyes wide. “Cat?”

  “None other.” I rose to my hind feet and swept a mocking bow.

  He looked as though he meant to say more, but I forestalled him with a raised paw. “Let’s go back to camp. We’ve much to do today, and I feel positively naked without my boots.”

  That day, I returned to the palace in time for the princess’s afternoon reception. It was a grand affair, as court functions always are. The ladies wore their hair twice as high as usual, and their panniers twice as wide. The men wore florid frock coats, gilt ceremonial swords and satin breeches fit as tight as a second skin.

  Into this august assemblage, I sauntered, bold as you please, my ears alert, my whiskers pert. Etheldred nodded to me when I came into her presence and I swept her my fancy bow. “Your Highness, I come bearing gifts on behalf of my master, the Marquis de Carabas.”

  Immediately a murmur went up from the crowd of courtiers. They did not recognize the title. Etheldred silenced them with a single sentence. “How fares my dear friend and your good master, the Marquis de Carabas?”

  The whispers began anew after the princess’s words. As I had expected, the most obsequious of the courtiers immediately claimed not just to know of the Marquis de Carabas, nor to simply know the mythical man personally. Instead, they claimed to be his bosom friends and closest confidants.

  “Oh, my dear friend, the marquis,” twittered an overloud lord. “He is such a gentleman.”

  “My master is very well, Your Highness,” I said. “He has sent these three brace of pheasant caught in the wilds of his lands to you as a token of his esteem.” I removed the pheasants from my damask bag.

  The men of the council who were present—Prince Osmont, and three other brittle-boned antiques—nodded approvingly. “So this Marquis of Carabas is a hunting man,” Prince Osmont said.

  “Those are fine birds,” one of the antiques said. “Shot cleanly.”

  “Indeed.” Etheldred arched an eyebrow. “They look as fine as any that may be caught in the royal wood.”

  “My lord’s lands are thick with such game, Highness.”

  “Perhaps I shall tour them one day.”

  “His lordship would like nothing better.”

  I returned to the inn with a spring in my step, and skipped up the stairs quick as you please. I paused brief
ly before the door to our room, gathering my thoughts, imagining the best way to recount the tale of my successful visit to the palace. My paw was raised to scratch at the door when I heard voices.

  “Come on, love, give us another tumble. This time in a proper bed.”

  “I’m sorry, Dorinda,” Julian said. “I cannot.”

  “I know for a fact you are perfectly—and I do mean perfectly—able.”

  “No. What I mean is, I have decided not to.”

  She gave a melancholy sigh. “Now why would a handsome man like you go and do a wretched thing like that? It’s a disappointment to all womankind, is what it is.”

  The bed frame creaked as Julian sat down heavily upon it, and groaned more lightly as Dorinda set herself down beside him. It creaked again and Julian’s heavier footsteps paced across the floor.

  “Sweet Dorinda. You comforted me when I felt alone and overwhelmed, but I now care for another woman and do not want to hurt her. She loves me, and I must do my best to be worthy of that love.”

  Dorinda’s laugh was rough and rueful. “What a pretty speech. Did it take you long to make it up?”

  Julian laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yes.” Dorinda’s voice went soft and sweet. “You’re a good man, Julian Miller. I hope she’s good enough to deserve you.”

  “She is…many things I am not—canny and clever and caring. Unlike any other woman I have ever known.”

  “That’s all well and good, but is this mysterious lady strong enough to put up with that cat of yours?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a jealous creature, that one. Just look at the scratch she gave me.”

  Silence. Then, he said, “It cannot have been Cat. Tell me, was the creature who scratched you wearing red boots and a silly little hat with a red feather in it?”

  “No,” Dorinda said. “But it were the same creature. I’d know those spiteful green eyes anywhere. Far too canny, they was—and angry as a woman scorned.”

  “Then it was not Cat,” Julian said, adamantly enough to warm my heart. “She may have a few…ethical deficiencies, but she is not spiteful.”